Tactless
by celeryy
Summary: "Sherlock..." she murmured, "you were right." "I know," he replied. Then he paused. "About what?" Molly smiled at him sleepily. "I will definitely need to reheat my tea..." A lovely angst-free one-shot. 'Tact', in this case, proves to be far over-rated.


**A/N **

**This started out as a crack version of my other fic Spectrum. Dear Lord WHAT HAPPENED?  
I had such a blast writing this, gotta say. I fought for a _long_ time to try and make it T-rated, but NOPE, it just wasn't gonna cooperate, and once I caved all the rest of it fell right into place. So hooray for writing my first *actual* sex scene. lol. **

**That said, there's no graphic language in this. I think the naughtiest word in the whole thing is "arse." That and "bloody hell". That's it.  
And no silly euphemisms, either, because I just can't write the word _manhood_ with a straight face. (ppffffffff...nope. couldn't do it.)**

**So prepare for humor, and sexy, and plenty of fluff, and absolutely no plot, and absolutely NO ANGST. This is an angst-free fic. (Which was such a relief, since everything else I'm working on right now is angst-galore...)  
**

**Did I mention the sexy?  
**

**Cuz there's a lot of it. Fifteen beautiful single-spaced 12-point Helvetica-font pages in my Word document.  
ENJOY THEM.  
**

**[obligatory disclaimer: not my characters. I'm just having fun with them...Far, far too much fun...]  
**

/

Molly was in the kitchen, making tea. Sherlock was sitting in the next room, lounging on the couch and watching her work.

He was thinking. No surprise there.

Having been confined to a small area for weeks and weeks with almost literally _nothing_ to keep him occupied, he'd been having to resort to drastic measures. He'd already read through all her books (of which there weren't many), including the phonebook, the Oxford English Dictionary, _and_ the King James Bible. He had memorized the collection of baking recipes she kept on yellowing index cards in a drawer next to the stove. He'd categorized all the shoes in her closet (while she was at work, of course), first by color, then alphabetically by brand, then chronologically in the order of when she'd last worn them.

By this point, the only thing left in her flat which he hadn't managed to analyze inside and out was...Molly herself.

When he really thought about it (and after all why not?, since that was more or less the _only_ thing he'd been doing lately) he was surprised by the extent to which she was still unfamiliar territory. Sure, he could read her habits and her insecurities and her entire childhood by living with her and by becoming intimately familiar with every piece of literature, item of clothing, and kitchen appliance she owned. But that was different from _knowing_ her, on a personal level - a distinction which he'd only recently begun to appreciate. There were constantly new subtle facets of her personality showing up when he didn't expect it. And a myriad more, he had a hunch, lay yet to be discovered.  
Naturally, he could also consider the possibility of becoming _physically_ familiar with a person. (And not just on a molecular level - that part tended to stay more or less consistent.)

It was true...he _had_ been far too trapped in his head lately. It was a daunting lifestyle change, after all, to suddenly find oneself deprived of fire-fights and high-speed chases. He couldn't even get anatomical samples from the morgue anymore. Molly didn't like keeping them in her fridge, for some reason.

Then there was the additional fact that _tactile_ investigation, as far as he was concerned, was by far the most immediate and satisfying strategy for acquiring data. At this point in his indefinite home-arrest sentence, there remained exactly _one_ potentially engaging opportunity, as such. And she was currently standing in the kitchen, steeping tea bags.

_Interesting..._

These trails of thought were beginning to lead in a very specific direction...  
He could see himself headed straight towards that slightly mystifying territory he'd always referred to as "Not My Area." And he found, to his surprise, that the idea was...not repulsive?  
In fact, next to the alternative option of _re_-cataloguing all the non-perishable food items in the kitchen pantry, it was looking positively inviting.  
At least, he couldn't see why not...

It could be an experiment. He liked those.

.

"We could have sex. Right now," he mused out loud.

Molly had just started to take a sip of tea. It sprayed out of her mouth so quickly it was sort of comical.

"Sorry, _what_?" she spluttered.

"What? Don't you want to?"

"I - I don't - I'm not sure I follow what -"

"I only mean that if I were to ask you at this very moment if you wanted to have sex, with me, your answer would be yes, wouldn't it?"

Molly's face flushed red as a stoplight.

"I - I - I...I...I -"  
"Well, don't _deny_ it. You've been rather obvious, don't you think?"

Even her ears were blushing.

"I - I don't really see how this is...u-um..."

He looked at her thoughtfully with his piercing gaze.

"You've probably fantasized about it, haven't you?" Then he scoffed to himself. "What am I saying? - of course you have..."

Molly could only stare at him, gaping like an idiot. The spilled tea was probably staining her shirt by now, but she'd forgotten about it.

"Frequently, too, I'd imagine," Sherlock continued, apparently oblivious to her discomfort. "I hear infatuation combined with sexual deprivation can stimulate such behavior in normal people..."

Molly finally found her voice.

"Sherlock?"

"You're agreeing with me?"

"I -" she gave her head a quick shake.

"..._why_?"

He looked at her, totally nonplussed.

"I'm bored."

She thought it best to ignore the potentially insulting implications of that statement. "You're..."

Suddenly she had the sensation of being bowled over by a gigantic wave.

"Sorry..." she began again, trying to use a rational approach. "You are inquiring..._hypothetically_...aren't you?"

It would be like him, after all. The man had no tact.

Sherlock turned to her with a triumphant look.

"Ah! But I didn't _inquire_ at all, did I?"

"Wha-?"

"I made an objective observation, and you reacted based on what you wanted to hear. Which in this case happened to be a _proposition_."

Molly stammered with embarrassment.

"But - but -"

_Wait a moment_ -

She gasped.

"But you _did_!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"_Did_I?"

"Yes! The second thing you said! You asked 'Don't you want to?'"

Sherlock's eyes lit up. He smirked.

"Well...how about that?"

He'd taken the correction in stride. He even seemed _pleased_ about it. That was unlike him. Molly felt suddenly taken aback, and no less baffled than she'd been a moment ago.

"So...then..."

"So then what?"

"W-wait - _What_?" Molly spluttered. Was he being so obtuse deliberately? "I- No! _You_ tell _me_. You said it first and I asked you and - and - I want to know if you're being hypothetical."

Sherlock pondered for a moment. At least, he pretended to. He was enjoying watching Molly get indignant; it was another new side to her.

"Mmm...No."

Molly didn't seem to have understood.

"No. No what?"

Sherlock gave her a look. He'd thought he'd been pretty clear.

"_No._ _Not_ necessarily, No."

"'No' as in-"  
"_Molly_..."

Her mouth fell open wordlessly.

"...Oh." she said in a tiny voice.

"Smashing!" said Sherlock with a grin, seeing that she'd finally caught up with him.

Molly thought it was possibly the most disconcerting thing she'd ever heard come out of his mouth.

Quicker than blinking, he'd sprung from the couch and was standing in front of her. Or _over_ her, more accurately - he was so _tall_. The grin had turned slightly wolfish.

"You might want to put your tea down," he said, glancing at the mug in her hands. She'd quite forgotten that she was holding it.

Did he mean -

_Now?_

"Well, why not?" said Sherlock, and Molly started in surprise, realizing she must have spoken out loud.

Or could he _actually_ read her thoughts? She didn't really want to rule that out.

"It's 9AM on a Saturday. You've got nothing better to do."

She opened her mouth, intending to tell him...something, probably, but the section of her brain that usually managed _coherence_ had temporarily shorted out. Sherlock took advantage of the ensuing silence to relieve her of the nearly-untouched tea mug, setting it gingerly on the countertop, next to the toaster oven.

"You'll probably need to reheat that later," he observed.

"Ah..." she managed weakly.

He was now staring down at her appraisingly, and she felt a deep blush rise to her cheeks.

"And, just to be _unmistakably_ explicit..."

He took another step forward, so that they were almost touching, and she felt her heart flutter. She was hopelessly pinned by his intense gaze.

"...you _are_ consenting to this course of action?"

His voice was soft and low and velvety, and it crossed her mind that even if she hadn't wanted him before, there was no way she'd refuse now, when he asked her like _that_.

"O - okay..." she said tenuously. Her own voice sounded uncertain to her ears, and he raised an eyebrow. She swallowed.

"I - um...Yes."

"Smashing..." was his reply. Only this time it was far too sexy to sound disconcerting.

For a long and slightly awkward moment nothing happened - he just pondered her curiously. She could feel the heat from his body reaching out to her. The anticipation was positively agonizing.

Then he moved his hand up, _cautiously_, it seemed, and he brushed a stray piece of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. It was a surprisingly sweet gesture.

When his touch strayed to her neck she felt herself shiver - a response which was not missed by him. Her heart pounded as his fingers trailed down the side of her throat and over her shoulder. Suddenly his hand stopped, resting on her sleeve.

"Hm."

He was frowning slightly. She blinked at him in confusion.

Had he changed his mind already?

"Sherlock?..."

"Yes..." he muttered distractedly, but he seemed to be talking to himself. His eyes gazed thoughtfully at the hand where it was touching her arm. Then he blinked and looked at her as if he'd reached a decision.

"You should kiss me first."

"_What_?" The word came out a bit more panicked than she'd have liked. His request had hit her from out of nowhere.

"You're...moderately familiar with this sort of experience. I admit I'm at a bit of a loss myself," he explained. Then he smirked at her lightly. "If you'd be so kind as to provide me with a starting point, I'm sure I'll catch on quite quickly."

"Oh...Uh-..." Her voice caught in her throat.

"Shouldn't be _too_ hard for you," he prodded, with a hint of a teasing smile. "Not after all the _practice_ you've had in your head."

Oh, _God_. Why was it so mortifying to hear him say it? She'd never be able to do this if he kept giving her the butterflies.

Wait. What?

Of _course_ she would!

Sherlock Holmes..._Sherlock. Holmes_. Had just asked her for a kiss. And also _sex_. She wasn't going to just freeze up at a time like this! What was she, _crazy_?

But as she contemplated his lips (she could almost remember how they'd felt, briefly pressed against her cheek that night, ages ago, at the horrid Christmas party) it was still surprisingly difficult to work up the nerve.

He was just so..._there_. Real, and solid, and intimidating...

...and looking at her expectantly...

_Oh, for goodness' sake._

She determinedly wiped every self-conscious thought from her mind and allowed the uninhibited part - the part that liked to fantasize about exactly this scenario in the moments between sleep and waking - take over her body. And suddenly it was easy.

She started leaning in -

And then he made a surprised noise in his throat. She stopped abruptly. The fantasy disappeared like a puff of smoke.

"W-what?"

Had she done something wrong? _Somehow_?...

She felt her cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"You're going left," he remarked. "I would have gone right..."

He meant...? - Oh. Tilting her head.

_What an odd thing to notice._

"Um, I can do right. Would you prefer -?"  
"No. Left is fine. Makes no difference, really."

"Um...okay..."

And then she had to find her focus again, because it felt weird when the spell was broken. Her eyes flew back to the target...his lips...and she started to imagine what they'd feel like on hers, and oh _yes_, there it was - the magic spell came right back...

She tentatively rested one of her hands on his shoulder, for balance, since she had to rise up on her tip-toes to reach his mouth properly. (_Honestly_! Was he descended from a _Sycamore_ tree?) Her own mouth relaxed open just slightly and she closed her eyes.

For an instant the whole world went silent. The intimacy of it seemed to press in on her ears.

Then their lips connected, and it felt like _fire_.

She placed the kiss like a question, letting it mold gently to his mouth until the contours fit perfectly. Then, when it felt right, she pressed her lips against his with more insistence, seeking an answer.

For about two seconds he was unresponsive; stuck in his head, observing the sensation. Then something clicked, and he offered his reply with a level of assurance which surprised them both in equal measure.

Molly felt an unexpected rush of giddy joy fill her body, making her limbs tingle. Even if he was being all scientific about it, he was still here, with her, willing to have her, willing to offer himself, and she was nearly overcome by this response: a simple, wonderful act of reciprocation which had clearly been driven by something other than "_boredom_." With him kissing her back, in earnest, she felt suddenly more confident, and less inhibited. She snaked both her arms around his neck, and in turn he placed his hands gently on her hips. She instinctively began to open her mouth against his, an action which he followed, and then he did her one better by running his tongue experimentally over her lower lip. The sensuality of the action made her shudder, and she broke away to catch her breath.

Sherlock's eyes searched her face uncertainly. He suddenly felt self-conscious.

"Not good?..."

It struck her as a funny question, and she giggled at him, while meanwhile he looked even more confused.

"Um..._quite_ good, actually," she said, blushing. "Have you really never done this before?"

The praise made his eyes light up, and the characteristic smirk returned to his face looking for all the world as though it had never left.

"I told you; I'm a fast learner."

"See if you can keep up, then!" she teased with a laugh, tugging his head back down to kiss him once more. Her own audacity surprised her. But this was _fun_!

Sherlock happily noted that _spunky_ Molly was an entirely new category to him, and he rather cheekily applauded himself for bringing it out in her. Presently, he also became aware of a raging mental battle taking place between his _id_ and his _superego_, and found to his great bewilderment that the _id_ - which was usually docile as a kitten - was putting up a spectacular fight.

(Molly pulled herself snug against him, and he felt his own hands circle around the small of her back, hugging her closer.)

In fact, it might even be in danger of taking over completely.

(She started to tentatively explore his mouth using her tongue, and when he caught it with his own, a small, keening moan escaped the back of her throat.)

In fact, it might have already done so...

_Oh, *_bloody* _hell_.

There was nothing for it. He dove in.

Still locked in the kiss, she felt him exhale a rather labored breath through his nose, which felt hot against her flushed cheek. Then she found herself being nearly lifted off the floor as his embrace tightened. He half-walked, half-carried her backwards with an almost frantic haste until her lower back bumped into the edge of the kitchen counter next to the stove, and for a moment her hips were pressed into his and it made her belly lurch and she gasped softly into his mouth. When they came up for air she felt dizzy.

He gazed into her eyes in utter fascination.

"Your pupils are fully dilated..." he observed, feeling a little woozy himself.

She smiled up at him.

"So are yours."

She watched in amusement, as a hand flew to his face.

"Are they really?" he murmured.

He studied her again. "How odd...It does rather seem to enhance aesthetic attractiveness...somehow..." He blinked absently. "I've read that's why low lighting is considered to be more romantic..."

"Sherlock Holmes," she chided affectionately, "was that a compliment?"

He looked at her in surprise.

"I don't know. Was it?" He sounded genuinely unsure. All the same, a slight blush crept onto his cheeks.

"I think it was," she decided for him. "Thank you very much."

"Yes. Well..."

Having nothing more to add, he leaned down to catch her lips again. She noticed that it was the first time he'd initiated the kiss himself, and that this time it had a different feeling - a hungrier one. She shivered and pushed one hand up the back of his neck to twine her fingers in his hair. With the additional sensation of being trapped between his hips and the kitchen counter, she could feel herself becoming quickly aroused. And as a matter of fact he seemed to be having a similar experience.

Um, definitely having a similar experience.

Her whole body went very hot. She felt Sherlock smile into her mouth.

"I rather think this is going to work, don't you?"

"Uh-huh..." she agreed, and then she stopped talking, because he was giving her a number of better things to do with her tongue.

The kiss escalated quickly, as they explored each other with increasing abandon. Getting carried away, he suddenly lurched forward, shoving her hips against the counter-top with such ravenous compulsion that she gasped in shock. The sound startled him and he pulled back quickly, checking her in concern.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked. He really wasn't used to this, after all - to letting instinct take precedence over his head and tell his body what to do. It was unnerving and, to an even larger extent, exciting.

Most definitely not boring.

What did 'boring' mean again? He couldn't seem to recall.

"No, not at all," Molly insisted rather breathlessly. She bit her lip.

"Would you...do it again? Please?"

The light in his eyes danced. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look _mischievous _before. It was absurdly endearing.

"Say 'please' again," he requested in a low voice, feeling utterly ridiculous and not caring in the slightest.

Oh, he was such a _boy_. But it was turning her on like crazy.

"_Please,_ Sherlock," she breathed. "Please do it again, please, oh- _Oh -_!"

He obliged with fervor, grinding his whole body against her. He slid his hands from her waist and braced them against the edge of the counter. They were flush together, and she could feel his hips pressing into her, _so_ hard, and she was being crushed between him and the silverware drawer. She clung to his shoulders tightly, kissed him deeply, and it still wasn't enough - she wanted to be _closer_, to feel him even more.

The potency of the need bubbled up inside her - made her moan desperately into his mouth. She reached to the side and groped for his hand, prying it from the rim of the counter-top and guiding it between their bodies. She felt him start slightly when he realized what she wanted him to do. But he allowed her to move his fingers down anyways - let her trust him completely. Her hand was covering his. Breathing raggedly, she began easing it into slow, rhythmic motions, until he took over himself, and her voice started coming out in soft whimpers.  
"_Sh-sherlock..._"  
She pushed her hips eagerly against his hand, and he took the hint, touching more insistently through the fabric of her cotton shorts.  
"Oh-_ohh_..."  
He sensed her muscles beginning to tense and shudder. When his knee began to nudge her legs apart she acquiesced gladly. She needed more, needed _everything_ -

Suddenly, though, he pulled back. He drew his hand away and wrapped it around her waist. She let her head fall against his chest, collapsed in his arms like a quivering rag doll, and he held her in a protective embrace as she trembled and tried to recover her breath.

His heart, too, was pounding wildly. She could feel the beats against her cheek.  
"Would you like to move to your bedroom?" he asked, his lips brushing against the top of her head. "It might be easier on your lower back."

That was considerate of him, she thought vaguely.

"Don't think I can make it that far..." she murmured. "How's the sofa?"

"A perfect compromise."

To her great astonishment, he reached down to hook one hand under her knees, and then he scooped her up easily into his arms, carrying her bridal-style over to the next room. She couldn't remember the last time someone had held her like this; it must have been years. She gasped and laughed out loud, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl.

Sherlock looked down at her in surprise, and he actually _smiled_, in spite of himself. It was positively bizarre.

Yet, not unpleasant. He made a note of that, as Molly's arms tightened around his neck and she pulled herself up to kiss him.

It was a bit preoccupying, carrying Molly while she seemed to be trying to count all thirty-two of his teeth with her tongue, and he nearly forgot where he was going, until his knees bumped into the sofa. He lowered her down gently onto the cushions, arranging himself to lay over her, so that they didn't have to break the kiss for more than a short moment.

Then he sat up, straddling her waist on the narrow couch, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Deciding not to beat around the bush, he reached for his belt and undid the buckle, as well as the zip on his trousers. He leaned back over her, resting on his elbows, and she used her feet to help him kick the obstructing garments down to his ankles and off, so that they bunched up below his feet next to the armrest.

It took Molly a moment to adjust to the fact that he was now completely naked.

Lying on top of her, totally stark naked.

_He_ seemed entirely unfazed by it, eagerly catching her lips again while his hands sought out the hem of her nightshirt. And suddenly she remembered that she was supposed to be naked too.

It was really the only way for this to work properly.

Her head buzzed nervously, wanting to feel insecure, but her body - in particular the pulsing heat emanating in waves from her nether regions - told her in a much more commanding tone that she rather liked the idea.

He tugged the night-shirt over her head and let it fall to the carpet next to his own. Then she arched her back so that he could reach the clasp on her bra, an action which conveniently required pressing herself against his bare chest. After fiddling with the hook for a moment, he huffed in frustration.

"Shouldn't I be able to do this with one hand?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Sherlock, no one can _actually_ get it that easily..."

Deciding to help him out, she leaned back, pulled the bra straps off her shoulders, and twisted the whole contraption around so that the clasp was in front. He raised his eyebrows.

"I wouldn't have thought of that," he admitted.

"It's a neat trick," she agreed.

With her bra out of the way, the only thing still separating them was the thin barrier of cotton that comprised her pajama shorts and underwear. And suddenly those were gone as well.

He loomed above her, propped up now on his hands and knees, and she felt his eyes drinking in the sight of her body. She had an equally ideal view of him, and she definitely liked what she saw. Rather than feeling self-conscious, she could only muster heart-fluttering anticipation, which was both a surprise and a relief.

Sherlock swallowed, and his throat felt dry. Despite his outer collectedness, his pulse was racing already. He wanted to touch her, but was almost hesitant to start, now that she was completely exposed before him. He laid his right hand tentatively on her lower abdomen, near her hip, and splayed his fingers across her belly. She let out a breathy sigh, and he took it a sign of approval, which bolstered his confidence. He slowly felt his way upwards, trying to map out her skin - wanting to memorize her. His hand traced over her sternum, fingertips glancing over her breasts, and he paid attention to the way her breathing rate sped up considerably, and the way she moved under his touch, curling her body or arching towards him at the slightest provocation. He dragged his fingers across her collarbone, then up the delicate curve of her neck, coming to rest his hand on the side of her cheek.

For a second they stared at each other, the space between them crackling with subdued tension. And at the moment Sherlock decided he couldn't hold back any longer, Molly reached a similar conclusion - she grabbed his shoulder with one hand and the back of his head with the other, pulling him down, and he threw himself against her, and they crashed together in a flurry of hungry kisses and groping hands and breathless panting.

Molly had never been this close to him. He was so heavy and solid - the very antithesis of a fantasy, but at the same time infinitely more satisfying, simply _because_ he was real. So real, that she could feel herself disappearing into him - all her senses being engulfed and swallowed up by the very intensity of his dominating presence; by the taste of his mouth and the smell of his skin and the texture of his hair.

Sherlock, of course, had never been this close to _anyone_ before; his already heightened perception was positively reeling with sensory overload at this unprecedented proximity. But far from being a destructive chaos, this was more akin to an adrenaline-spiking thrill - he might have just pitched himself from a speeding train. He didn't have to worry about fitting every piece of new data into a complex subterfuge; he could allow his body to simply run with the heat of the moment, and let the sensations wash over him.

Molly wrapped her arms around his back, letting her hands glide over his ribs and the expanse of his shoulders. His body was feverishly hot against her own, and his eager, searching touch burned her skin, in the best way possible. She felt lightheaded and overwhelmed. Like he was filling her to the brim. In every way but _one_, that is. And she suddenly felt the lack of it more keenly than ever.

Her body writhed towards him in needy urgency, and he seemed to realize it too - what was missing.

Their eyes met, and they both knew what was going to happen next. It was, after all, the only logical progression.

The instant the epiphany happened, everything around them - the very air - seemed to become almost hyper-real. An event which had always been impossible was now an inevitability, and it caught them both off-guard. Sherlock was experiencing an entirely unfamiliar type of hyper-awareness. Every action now felt achingly deliberate. He stared unblinkingly into Molly's eyes, unwilling or unable to look away, and she stared back, equally mesmerized. They were trapped in each other's gaze, as if the moment was stretched out in a single thread between them, which could not be broken for fear that it would disappear in a flash of fantasy.

Breathing shallowly, he guided her knees apart and hovered over her.

They didn't break eye contact as he pushed his hips down carefully. It happened more easily than he would have thought...had he ever thought about it. Which he never had.

But, there you are...

For a second, he looked like he had no idea what to do. His eyes were wide, still boring into hers, his lips slightly parted - he seemed almost startled. And she was sure she looked no different.

Of course, it didn't take him an especially long time to figure it out.

As previously noted, he was an awfully fast learner.

He shifted forward experimentally, and the sensation made his breath hitch. Molly gasped. He felt her fingernails dig slightly into his back. The sudden sharp contact acted on him like an electric current, and all semblance of hesitation disappeared instantly. Moving against her with increasing confidence, he placed a series of quick, covetous kisses down her throat, and ran his tongue along the curve of her neck. It occurred to him that he had never actually _tasted_ another person, and he wondered how he could possibly have deprived himself of the experience for so many years. But the thought evaporated as quickly as it had come, swept away by Molly's breathy gasps and the waves of pleasure rushing through his body. She scraped her nails over his shoulders - deliberately, this time - and he moaned against her collarbone, driving into her even harder so that she whimpered and clutched him more tightly to her heaving chest.

"Oh _God_…_o-ohh_…"

He shifted up slightly, and her head tilted back as he nipped at the skin under her jaw, biting down onto a particularly sweet-tasting spot on her neck. She gasped and panted, trying to catch her breath.

"_Sherlock,_ that...m_mm_-that feels- o_h_!"

He was quite enjoying this vocal side of Molly. He pressed kisses onto the edge of her jaw, and her eyelids, and her burning cheeks, so that he could keep listening to her breathy voice.

"_Sh-Sherlock_!..."

He had _no right_ to be this good, she thought. She suspected that it might be partly because it was _him_. She didn't care, though. That just made it better.

Next he dragged his teeth back over her throat, and trailed his tongue slowly down her neck, all the way to her chest, and she arched her shoulders to press herself closer to his mouth. He explored her skin with his lips and his fingers, and listened to her moan and gasp softly.

It was all an experiment - a new and immensely enjoyable one. He took his time figuring out which actions drew the best reactions. When he dragged his fingertips down the side of her ribcage, for example, letting his thumb pass over her breast, she whimpered and slid a hand into his hair, pulling it between her fingers. The sensation was unexpectedly pleasurable, and he felt a surge of endorphins and adrenaline course through his body. He pushed into her more forcefully, hoping to illicit a similar response, and thrilled with pleasure when she let out a shuddering "_ah-_" and tugged harder, her fingers tightening involuntarily.

She stretched out her foot, rubbing it over the back of his calf, and he dragged one of his hands down to clutch the side of her leg, remembering how little attention he'd been paying to that area. Feeling the soft, smooth skin, and the way she started to press her hips up towards him, this now seemed a terrible oversight. He ran his palm underneath her thigh, gliding from the juncture of her hip to the hollow below her knee. Then he squeezed his hand softly, and was shocked when she let out a sharp gasp - her whole body jerked and tensed suddenly. He looked up and noticed that her eyes had widened to the size of saucers. A cog clicked into place in his mind, and he gazed at her incredulously.

"Are you..._ticklish_?"

He skimmed his fingertips lightly under her knee and got his answer when she shivered again, pressing her lips together to stifle a giggle.

"_Don't you dare_..." she said warningly.

The mischievous glint had come back into his eyes.

"Sherlock, I _swear_, if- _ah_!"

Her protest cut off with a squeak, and he chuckled at her reaction. Grinning deviously, he clamped his hand over the top of her knee and squeezed his fingers, and she shrieked with laughter, trying to jerk her leg away.

"No-_no -_ _Ah_!- Stop it!"

The spasms rippling through her body resulted in a wave of wildly enjoyable and unexpected sensations within the proximity of their joined hips. He acquiesced and let go of her knee, in order to focus on drilling her harder into the sofa cushions, and her laughter gave way to breathy gasps and sensual moans.

Her back arched towards him longingly, and he took the opportunity to slip his hand underneath her arse. She reached down to lay her own hand on top of his, squeezing it lightly. He followed her lead, digging down firmly with his fingertips, and got a thrill of pleasure when the muscles around her hips clenched and trembled. He swiftly brought his other hand down to grasp underneath her thigh, and pressed his whole torso flush against her; all his weight was pushing into her, crushing down, and she cried out in shock and ecstasy, instinctively shifting the angle of her hips, wanting him to go even farther. He sought her mouth with his own, and lightly smiled when she murmured his name passionately against his lips.

"_Molly_..." he breathed back, and she brought both her hands up to cup his face and kissed him for all she was worth.

Tactile curiosity soon got the better of him again, and he resumed exploring her skin, kissing her collarbone and licking the hollow of her throat, which he had decided was a particularly fascinating recess.  
Her fingers traced across his back soothingly, up and down his spine, and she felt him shiver. He growled low in his throat; the vibrations made her whole body tingle.

Their pace had slowed to a gentle rock. He kept moving against her, and she against him, and it wasn't rough or frenzied or fighting for power. They were simply in the moment, figuring each other out, and savoring every touch.

"Perfect..." she murmured breathily, and he hummed into her shoulder to express his agreement.

After several minutes longer, conversation was out of the question. They were utterly lost in each other. Molly felt her breathing becoming labored and erratic. Sherlock was faring no better. His hair was damp with sweat, and when he kissed her on the mouth for a long, sweet moment, it was with a reckless desperation that made her want to hold him impossibly tighter.

She felt like she would never get enough of him, like she could be smothered by him and she'd still want more.

The flickers of burning pleasure in her core grew gradually more intense, until she was panting to contain it all. She could see the muscles in his jaw clenched hard, and his grip, which he'd switched to her upper arms, had tightened unconsciously until it was cutting off her circulation. He bowed his head and pressed his face against her neck, stifling a moan - he might have been in pain. She knew he was trying to fight it. She wanted to reassure him, tell him to trust her, but she was so close to the breaking point herself it was impossible to form the words. So instead she lifted a quavering hand to the side of his face and kissed him one more time, pressing her lips to his with all the affection and gratitude and compassion which at that very moment were threatening to spill out of her heart and drown her. It was a kiss asking him to let her share everything with him, all of those overwhelming feelings, and to let himself give in to the rushing current and drown with her. She asked him to let go.

And somehow he heard her. He understood, and after the floodgates had cracked open there was no stopping the devastating wave from crashing through all his defenses. A huge shudder ran through his entire body and he groaned into her mouth. When she felt him tense and spasm, something inside her seemed to burst - she could hold on no longer, and as he collapsed on top of her she tumbled right over the edge as well, gasping and clutching his shoulders for dear life as she fell to pieces around him, her helpless body dashed against the rocks by wave after wave of ecstatic pleasure.

When it was over, Molly sighed into the side of his neck, too exhausted to move or speak. And he, seized by a rush of affection, leaned up to kiss her forehead. If he'd been saner, he might have been shocked by his own tenderness.

They lay on the sofa with their limbs still twined together and just held each other, breathing quietly. Sherlock felt like he was floating; normal time seemed to have gone on holiday.

_All the clocks must have stopped..._ he thought, but he didn't have the energy to say so.

Molly listened to his breath and the steady thrum of his still-racing heart, thinking she'd never felt more safe and contented in her whole life.

"Sherlock..." she whispered, "you're trembling..."

"Don't worry...I'll be alright," he answered softly.

She had to suppress a grin.

"You've seen that movie?"

"...What movie?"

"Oh...never mind..."

"So are you," he added as a sleepy afterthought, "You're trembling..."

She turned her head to kiss his cheek.

"Yes...I'll be alright, too."

"I'm glad..."

"Are you getting up?" she wondered, hoping the answer was no.

"Not a chance," he murmured in reply.

It was nice, this.  
"_cuddling_"...

He closed his eyes and held her more snugly against him, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. Molly rested her chin on top of his head and began to stroke his tousled hair. He hummed appreciatively and mumbled something unintelligible, making her smile.

.

If she had said to him, at that moment, that she loved him,

he might have chosen to say it back.

But she didn't, so she didn't know it...and neither did he.

.

Not a minute later, they were both fast asleep, breathing together in perfect synchronization.

/

**A/N**

**EEeeeeeeee :DDDD  
**

**At one point I was convinced I was writing two sex scenes, but then I gradually found a way to combine them and then they were just ONE BIG sex scene. Like woah.  
**

**You might notice that the link description isn't in the story - it's what I imagined them saying after they wake up...:)  
**

**Soooo many warm fuzzy feelings for the end of this fic. Literally, I even put a note at the end of my Word doc that said "~And It Was The Most F***ing Adorable Thing Ever. The End.~", which I thought just about summed it up. **

**I went back and forth on those three little lines just before the last one (I'd added them in later), so if anyone wants to put in their two cents on whether you think it's in-character, I'd be really interested. It just felt perfectly poignant, and I sort of figured they'd earned it... :P  
**

**I can't believe I had to throw in a Titanic reference. But I couldn't NOT. Seriously...  
**


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